


Sleighbells and Lace

by Wikketkrikket



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christingle, Christmas, Cuddling, Drabbles, Fluff, Holiday, Lace, M/M, Mulled wine, Santa Baby, Snowed In, Steve sings, Tony has a voice kink, Tony hates arts and crafts, Tony is a giggly drunk, Underwear, decorations, festive, sleigh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-05 00:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wikketkrikket/pseuds/Wikketkrikket
Summary: A collection of festive drabbles - all Stony, all fluff.Today's feature: Steve has an extreme reaction when he hears Michael Buble's version of Santa Baby. Tony goes digging, with unexpected results.





	1. Sleigh

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be an advent calendar fic with daily drabbles, but I haven't managed to build up as much of a buffer as I'd hoped, so it is now a 'festive drabble as quick as I can write them' collection! It would help if I could keep them to around 500 words as planned, but yes. Please enjoy - and send me any prompts if you have ideas!

Sleigh

After a hectic December, all Steve wanted to do this Christmas was collapse onto the couch with Tony and not move for at least three days. Unfortunately, super villains and international criminals had no respect for the holidays, and after a two day mission to Cyprus had turned into a three week operation, Steve had been worried that he wouldn't make it home for Christmas at all. As it turned out, though, with no small thanks to Natasha and the Shield surveillance team, they had managed to wrap things up late on the 23rd and Steve had gotten straight on a plane home before anyone could corner him for a debrief.

While he had been gone, Tony had looked after the domestic crises, and Steve knew Iron Man had been in a few scraps of his own. Somehow, though, Tony had still found time to decorate every inch of the tower; meaning that now they could cuddle up on the couch under a throw and watch the lights on the tree twinkle, just enjoying being back together after so long apart. This, Steve thought, was how Christmas Eve ought to be spent.

Except something was obviously on Tony's mind. They'd both gotten clingy, spending their first few minutes back together gently checking the other for injuries, reassuring themselves that the last few weeks hadn't caused any permanent damage, before spending the following hours sticking close to one another, getting used to being back in one another's space. They were always the same after a separation. And yet, even as they sat nestled together, Steve running his hand gently through Tony's hair, he couldn't get him to relax. Tony was restless, seemingly unable to get comfortable, repeatedly glancing at the clock.

'If you have something you need to do, it's okay,' Steve said, trying to ignore the despair welling up in him. He couldn't imagine anything much more miserable than having to lose Tony again straight after three weeks apart, at 9PM on Christmas Eve; but it came with the territory of being in a relationship with a man who was both a super hero and the owner of the largest corporation in the United States. Steve kept his eyes firmly fixed on the tree, trying not to let his disappointment show.

'Not me,' Tony said, sitting up, Steve immediately missing his warm presence. 'Us.' He smiled.

'Huh?' Steve asked. 'Tony, I just got home. I don't intend on leaving the tower until New Year.'

Tony pouted. 'Well, maybe if you'd come back on time you wouldn't be so exhausted, Mr _Don't-worry-Tony-it's-just-one-night.'_ He stood up, pulling the throw off Steve decisively and ignoring his whine of protest. 'Now come on, it's time to go. It's your Christmas present.'

'It's not Christmas until tomorrow,' Steve made the token objection even as he got to his feet. He'd learnt that when it came to Tony and his needlessly elaborate gifts it was better to just go along with it and get it over with. Tony just wanted everyone to be as happy as it was in his power to make them, and didn't understand that a gift that could never be reciprocated could be overwhelming. Steve was trying to learn to be grateful.

'Fine, fine, a pre-Christmas present then,' Tony said, taking his hand and leading him over towards the door. 'Now wrap up warm, soldier, it's freezing out there.'

Trying to hide his reluctance to go back out in the cold, Steve obediently bundled himself up in coat, hat, scarf and gloves as beside him Tony did the same. Soon afterwards they were out on the street, walking to a destination unknown.

Despite it being Christmas Eve, the streets were pretty quiet – it seemed they had caught it in the sweet spot between the last of the last minute shoppers dashing home and the first of the festive revellers coming out. Tony trotted along, focused on their destination, his hand in Steve's, the grip awkward between their thick gloves, but neither of them let go. After a few minutes, they turned into the comparative darkness of the park.

'Where are we going?' Steve couldn't help asking. The park was almost empty, the grass and bushes frosty with snow, the Christmas lights strung along the footpath not illuminating much beyond it. Snow was starting to fall again, just a light flurry, and Steve's breath was coming in clouds in front of him.

'Should be somewhere here,' Tony said, and as they reached the brow of the slight incline the footpath had taken them up, he said, 'Aha! There. Merry Christmas, Steve.'

Steve looked. Just ahead was an old fashioned open sleigh, painted white, decorated with tinsel and holly. Two horses were harnessed to it, and the driver sat in the front, wearing a Victorian style tail coat and a top hat with another sprig of holly tucked into the ribbon round the band.

'Please tell me I don't own that now,' Steve said, because _what on earth was he going to do with it?_

'No, idiot,' Tony said, giving him a good natured shove before heading down towards the carriage. 'We're having a ride. Well, I am, you're learning to drive.'

'Huh? Tony!'

Tony laughed and carried on, leaving Steve to hurry after him, a smile breaking over his face. The truth was he loved horses. He always had, and many times as a kid he had been shooed away by an irritated grocer or milkman or dustman for fussing the horses while they were meant to be working. He'd been just the right age to see them replaced one by one as cars became more affordable, and these days seeing horses made him nostalgic for the time when they had been an every day sight.

Reaching the sleigh before him, Tony introduced them to the driver before climbing into the back and immediately burrowing into the blankets that had been left on the seat for passengers. Steve took his time, getting the owner's permission before saying hello to the horses, stroking their noses and flanks and getting nudged and nuzzled affectionately for his trouble.

'I wish I had some sugar lumps for you,' Steve said, regretfully, suspecting the real reason behind their warm greeting. The driver laughed, but Tony said, 'Check your pockets.'

Bewildered, Steve checked his coat pockets. They were deep and as he dug into them he discovered the paper shoved into the bottom that he had assumed was a receipt when his fingers brushed over it earlier was in fact a small bag. He pulled it out and opened it to find it was in fact full of sugar cubes. He felt his jaw drop open slightly.

'How did you know?' He asked Tony, shocked.

Tony laughed. 'You say the same thing to every horse you meet. And I think they've figured you out.'

Steve jumped, realising with a start that the two horses had indeed become very interested in the hand that held the bag. He shot a questioning look at the driver, who nodded.

'Better give them some before they have it out your hand. Not too many, mind.'

Steve nodded back, taking two of the cubes out of the bag before shoving the rest firmly back into his pocket. He offered them up to his new friends, trying to ignore the quiet tap-tapping sound that indicated Tony was either taking pictures or possibly even filming on his phone. Steve didn't even try to arrange the goofy grin on his face into something more socially acceptable. He loved horses, and he was intending to make the most of every moment of this gift.

Eventually, when he could see the horses had had enough of a fuss and were ready to move, Steve took his indicated seat up next to the driver, who started talking him the ropes; how driving a pair of horses was different to normal riding, how to direct the horses and keep them on a steady course, how to spur them on, slow them down, get them to stop. Soon after they were away, making their way at a measured pace around the park. For a while it absorbed all Steve's attention, but soon he became aware of the tap-tapping sound again, and he turned around to grin at Tony.

'Thanks, sweetheart,' he said.

'Watch where you're going,' Tony said, but he was grinning back, and something in that smile overwhelmed Steve. This wouldn't be Tony's scene, he knew, nothing _cold_ was. If the shadows under his eyes were any indication, he'd probably been craving a quiet night on the couch too. But here he was, having fun simply because Steve was.

With a little assistance from the driver, Steve pulled the carriage over and hopped down.

'What's wrong?' Tony asked, eyes full of concern and disappointment as Steve approached the back. 'Aren't you enjoying it?'

'I love it,' Steve said, honestly, and Tony's expression eased a fraction. 'I'm just making an improvement.'

Tony blinked at that, but Steve was determined and climbed up into the back of the sleigh, settling down next to Tony under the blankets, pulling the other man close. Once they were settled,the driver set off again, through the light snow that barely touched them in their cocoon of blankets, through the dark, beneath the twinkle of the fairy lights, the only sounds the clopping of the horses' hooves, their panting breath, and the jingle of the bells on their harness. Next to him, Steve felt Tony finally relax and melt into his grip.

_Perfect._


	2. Christingle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which my English-ness is showing... at least I don't think Christingles are really done in the US. But they're fun and a bit hookey, so I decided to have them make one :) Enjoy!

Christingle

Over the years, Tony had gained something of a reputation for his Christmas decoration. _Heavenly Homes_ ran a yearly special on it. He always had a theme and went all out to turn his home into a festive retreat; sometimes classy, sometimes gaudy, elegant, tacky, retro, modern, real, synthetic, he had done it all. One thing he did not do, however, was _homemade_.

'What the hell is that?' he demanded. This year's theme was a kind of Scandinavian-esque winter wonderland, with pine everywhere and intricately knitted blankets, rugs and throws. Every door frame, alcove and banister in the place was festooned with garlands of evergreen leaves, glittering slightly or with LEDs tucked discreetly into them here and there to twinkle. Some had golden berries, some had a sprinkling of fake snow, some even had pine cones. What none of them had, what none of them would ever have, was _oranges_. Especially not an orange that had stuff sticking out of it on cocktail sticks with a candle in the top. It looked like the 1950s idea of a space ship. Tony wrinkled his nose at it, picking it up and waving it to the room at large. 'Look, I'm trying to keep this place classy,' he said. 'You guys mind leaving your weird ass snacks somewhere else?'

'Nothing to so with me,' Clint said from the couch. 'And everything to do with Cap. He said it was a decoration.'

Tony sighed. He'd already had to have one conversation with the man at the start of December when the Steve had said that he was going to start saving his newspapers to make paper chains. Paper chains. Made out of newspaper. Like some sort of depression-era Womble. 'Where is he?' Tony asked.

'Try the kitchen,' Clint said. Tony did, taking the weird orange with him. Some of the juice was seeping out where the stuff had been stuck in it, and it was making his hand sticky. Eww.

He found Steve standing at the sink, washing up a chopping board. Tony shoved the orange under his nose.

'What's this?' He demanded.

'A Christingle.'

'What?'

'It's a Christingle,' Steve repeated, putting the board into the drainer before emptying the sink and turning to dry his hands. 'A Christingle, for Christmas.'

'Now you're just making words up.'

'No, look,' Steve said, taking the orange back. 'It's a symbol.'

'Of what?' Tony asked. 'You know I hate metaphors.'

Steve ignored him. 'The orange represents the world,' he said. 'The red ribbon round the middle represents the blood of Christ, spilt for everyone.'

'Is this a Catholic thing?'

'It's a Christmas thing,' Steve said, impatiently. 'Then you have four sticks in it, for the four points of the compass and the four seasons, because the love covers all places and times. And you put the sweets and fruits on the sticks to represent God's bounty and generosity.'

'You still remember all this, huh?' Tony asked. 'Your Sunday School teacher would be proud.'

'And the candle,' Steve said, pointing to the candle at the top, 'Is to remind us that Jesus is the light of the world.'

'Yeah, okay,' Tony said. 'The thing is, none of us are really religious. Well, most of us aren't. Then Wanda is Jewish and Bruce has the whole Buddhist thing and Thor actually is a god so...'

'So what?' Steve asked. 'Even if you don't believe it, they're still fun to make.'

Tony eyed the wounded orange sitting on the draining board. He doubted that.

'Sit down,' Steve said, putting the just-washed chopping board back on the table with a glint in his eye.

'No,' Tony said.

'Sit down,' Steve said again, laughter in his voice and mischief in his eyes. He could get like that, Tony had discovered, up for practical jokes or teasing as long as nobody got hurt. He'd evidently decided that it would be the height of entertainment to see Tony sticking stuff in an orange in the name of Christmas.

'No,' Tony protested again, but Steve had taken him by the shoulders and was gently-but-firmly pushing him into one of the seats around the table. He was only using one hand, splayed so wide that it spilt across Tony's shoulder and collarbone, palm on Tony's chest, where Tony was sure he would be able to feel his heart starting to pound; but if Steve noticed he said nothing, instead using his free hand to deftly scoop up another orange and place it resolutely down on the chopping board, squarely in front of Tony.

'Start with the ribbon,' Steve instructed, issuing the command in his most Captain America-y voice, so that Tony grumbled but picked up the ribbon and started trying to get it to stay in place. It was a fiddly job – Tony was a damn engineer and he couldn't get it to stay in place, the shiny ribbon sliding around on the waxy skin – but seeing Steve sitting opposite him, watching the progress, beaming, just made him go weak at the knees. He'd do anything to keep that smile on his face.

'Having trouble?' Steve asked, and Tony immediately changed his mind. It wasn't even a smile, it was a smirk. 'I thought you were good at making things.'

'Yeah, making _real_ things. Not some girl scout arts and crafts crap.'

Steve raised his eyebrows. 'Well someone isn't getting their badge,' he said. 'Look, come here.'

Tony held out the orange and the ribbon to him, but Steve ignored him, circling back round the table and crouching behind Tony's chair, kneeling behind to take hold of his hands, to guide them, to help hold the ribbon -

'Woah,' Clint said, walking into the kitchen. 'Hey there, Patrick Swayze.'

Tony flushed. Steve looked confused, and Tony made a mental note that they should watch _Ghost_ once the holidays were over. Tony's ribbon now secured, Steve stood up, looking levelly at Clint.

'Sit down,' he said.

'Huh?' Clint blinked.

Steve pointed at a vacant seat. 'Sit.'

By the end of the day, nestled in amongst the tasteful colours and leaves of the garlands were six garish oranges; Natasha's and Bruce's minimalist but balanced, Steve's somehow nostalgic, Thor's and Clint's weighed down with as many sweets as humanly possible, and Tony's, looking like he had gotten distracted half way through and finished it in a hurry, which was exactly what had happened as he'd argued and laughed with the others. The kitchen table was sticky with juice, and the bots were just starting to clear up the dropped candy and cocktail sticks that littered the floor. The whole thing was a mess, and tacky, and totally ruined his theme and yet – and yet. Tony had to admit, there was something in the way they looked when the candles were lit, all of them there together, the reflection of the flames glittering in the dark glass of the window and matching the delighted look in Steve's eyes.

Maybe the Christingles weren't so bad after all.


	3. Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is slightly nsfw-ish, and not that festive, but I hope you enjoy it.

Lace

'Jarvis, where's Steve?'

'Captain Rogers is currently attending a public relations seminar at Shield. The one you are also supposed to be at.'

Tony rolled his eyes. Ever since Steve had moved in after marrying Tony four months ago, he and Jarvis were becoming more and more alike. A united front, behaving like his parents.

'More important things to do, J.' Tony waved the implied admonishment aside. 'How long do I have before he's back? Are they wrapping up?'

'The meeting is scheduled to finish in ten minutes, sir. However, Captain Rogers has just asked whether they expect him to lie to the general public just to make Shield look good, so I suspect it could go on for some time yet.'

'Perfect,' Tony said. He'd planted a bug on Steve for this exact purpose, so that Jarvis could listen in on the meeting. He'd remove it the moment his husband (and he still loved saying that, _his husband)_ got home, but for the time being, he needed to use this undisturbed time to sneak Steve's present in.

He'd got the usual round of big, excessive gifts ready to go of course, but they were really just to annoy Steve and would undoubtedly go the same way as last year's helicopter – sold off once the festive period was over and the money given to charity. This year it was a mansion, and Tony already had contractors lined up to convert it into flats to be given to the homeless. He'd force Steve to spend a few hours there, make out like he meant the gift, and then put him out of his misery.

Then there were the little gifts, the small luxuries Steve would enjoy but wouldn't buy for himself; fluffy socks and bubble bath, the truffles he could eat by the truckload. Those weren't particularly secret. But Steve's main present, his _real_ present, was currently in Tony's hands and needed to be pushed away somewhere where Steve wouldn't find it. Tony knew the perfect place – the empty cupboard.

They called it the empty cupboard because it was too small and peculiarly-shaped to be actually used for anything. Tony had liked it in spite of, or perhaps because of, its impracticality and so it had stood in the corner of the spare room and sometimes Tony rested a coffee cup on the top of it just to justify its being there. It was about waist high, and at the top and bottom about the width of a drinks coaster. It bulged slightly in the middle, and at its widest point you could have just about wedged a CD case in there, but with no shelf or grooves to hold onto it would have clattered down before long. The whole thing was made of a dark wood, polished and varnished until it looked almost like marble, but most of it was covered by fake leather panels held in by gold plated studs. Steve called it ugly, couldn't understand why Tony kept it, and generally stayed well away from it. Which was another reason it was the perfect hiding place for this particular present.

Tony had to admit he didn't really get it. They'd gone to an art show way back in February, to a tiny gallery in the middle of nowhere, because Steve had seen some artist on pinterest that was going to be displaying. Tony hadn't been in the best of moods as they'd fought their way through the snow and slush to get there, but all that had changed as soon as they'd gotten inside. Steve had looked around at the paintings and sculptures, his face lit up with delight and awe. The only other thing Tony had seen him pull that face for was, well, him. So he'd gone back later and spoken to artist, asked for a commission. For months they had been trading emails, sketches, designs, and now the finished product was in Tony's hands; a vase, but not the sort you'd actually put flowers in. It had a shape that looked like water flowing, caught in a moment between moments. The colour changed depending on what angle the light caught it at, but all of its shades were peaceful, like hope, like yearning. It was beautiful, and Steve would love it. It was also the perfect size to fit into the empty cupboard.

Except the empty cupboard wasn't actually empty. When he opened it, Tony spotted a small, scrunched up piece of what looked like fabric. Frowning, he set the vase down carefully and pulled the bundle out.

It turned out to be, as he pulled and the folds fell out, a pair of scarlet lace panties. Barely more than a thong. Obviously belonging to a woman.

Tony stared and stared. He was trying to convince himself that it must just be a relic of the olden days, but he knew it wasn't true. He'd only acquired the empty cupboard a year or so before meeting Steve, when he'd already calmed down on the playboy thing. And anyway, this was the spare room. They barely came in here. They certainly never used the bed.

 _He_ never used the bed.

'Jarvis?' He croaked out, brandishing the offending underwear. 'Where did this come from?'

'I'm afraid the Captain has requested that be covered by the privacy protocol, sir.'

'But...'

But what? Tony himself had put the privacy protocol in place, so that Jarvis wouldn't rat him out if there was something he'd rather Steve didn't know, usually when he was working on something reckless or over-ambitious. _But Steve wasn't supposed to use it. Steve was supposed to tell him everything_.

'Sir, you know the Captain,' Jarvis said gently. 'You know his character.'

Right. Right, Steve wouldn't cheat. Although, if he did, he would be the sort who would respect Tony enough to do it in the spare, not in their bed. He'd also be the kind to hide his fling's possessions away so that he could find a way to return them. Assuming it was a fling and not a relationship. Goodness knew Tony was away enough. But Steve wouldn't, he wouldn't. Tony just wished he could convince his rolling guts of that.

Forty minutes later, Steve came back. He was looking for him, calling Tony's name, but Tony couldn't reply. He still had the underwear twisted in his grip, and for a brief second he thought about tossing them back in the cupboard, out of sight and out of mind, because if he pretended not to know then they wouldn't have to talk about it and he wouldn't have to maybe lose Steve. Just the idea made him feel sick – but it was too late, Steve had found him.

'There you are. What are you doing in here?' Steve asked, bending to kiss him on the cheek and spiking him with evergreen leaves in the process. 'I got a wreath,' he said, proudly, holding it up.

'I can see that,' Tony found his voice at last. Steve had left a trail of pine needles behind him.

'A real one,' Steve added. 'It has to be a real tree and a real wreath, otherwise it doesn't count.'

'Sure,' Tony answered, twisting the fabric more tightly in his hand. Hell. How did one even start a conversation like this?

'Tony? What's wrong?' Steve asked, dropping the wreath onto the bed without further ceremony and sitting beside him. His eyes were full of concern, _annoyingly_ full of concern, because how could Tony be mad at him if he seemed to care so much, how could he have done it if he cared -

'Steve,' Tony said, eventually, and opened his hand to show Steve his find. As comprehension dawned, all colour drained from Steve's face. His expression was one of absolute horror. He said nothing, just buried his face in his hands.

And for some reason, that desperation, that despair, made Tony feel better; because if Steve at least felt bad about it then maybe there was a chance they could fix this. He could do better, be better, be whatever Steve needed; and Tony knew he was being pathetic, he knew it, but this was _Steve_ , he would give up every scrap of dignity and self respect he had just to keep him there. Steve wasn't a cheat. If he had done it, it had been Tony's fault, for not being attentive enough, loving enough, just not being _enough_. Tony knew it. He'd known it from the start. But he could fix this, he would fix this -

If Steve wanted him to. Maybe he didn't. Maybe that was why he was moving on. Why wasn't he _saying_ anything?

'Steve,' he said again, not sure where he was going with this. '...Were you going to tell me?'

'No way,' Steve groaned.

Tony blinked at that. 'Well, so much for Mr Honesty. Well, look, I know now. Maybe... maybe we can fix this.'

'Nope, nothing to fix. Just, just give them back,' Steve said, trying to snatch the knickers out of Tony's hand. 'Just forget about it, okay?'

His colour was back now. More than back, Steve was flushing redder than the knickers. Tony started to think he was missing something. He held on. Steve pulled on the underwear, stretching them out between them, the delicate lace straining.

'Tony,' he groaned again. ' _Please.'_

'How am I supposed to just forget about you hiding some lady's secret things in our cupboard?'

Steve went even redder. 'They aren't a lady's. _Tony_. Give them _back_.'

Tony did not. He held on tighter. 'Then whose are they, Steve?'

'You know whose they are.'

'I really don't,' Tony said, and something in his tone seemed to make Steve realise he was serious, because he finally met his husband's eyes, and although he flushed even darker there was understanding in his eyes.

'Oh, Tony, Tony, sweetheart, no, they're not... I didn't.... they're mine.'

The last words were spoken barely above a whisper. 'What?' Tony asked.

Steve couldn't meet his eyes. 'I know we said I shouldn't read the interviews-'

'Which interviews? Not the countdown interviews? Steve!'

Steve nodded. Tony huffed. One of the tabloids had decided the best way to celebrate their nuptials back in the summer was to do a 'countdown' formed of interviews with Tony's old flames, everything from ex-girlfriends and boyfriends to drunken one night stands he didn't even really remember. He and Steve had talked about them. They had both agreed that it was a bad idea for either of them to read them, that the best thing to do was ignore them, not to let it ruin things. It seemed Steve hadn't been able to resist.

'I know, I shouldn't, I wish I hadn't, but it was just this one girl... she was on the cover of the magazine. She was really pretty.'

'You're pretty,' Tony rushed to reassure him. 'You're stunning.'

Steve shushed him with a wave of his hand, clearly just wanting to get his story over and done with. 'Well, in her interview, she said... she said you liked... that sort of thing.' Steve nodded at the underwear, now hanging limp from Tony's hand. 'Lingerie. So I thought... well. But it's not like I could try it on so I just ordered it online and I think I'd already changed my mind but then it came and it was way too small for me and I-'

He got no further. Tony was laughing too hard. Well, he was laughing when he could, when his lips weren't pressed to Steve's, to his lips and his cheek and his neck and his chin and his temples and every inch of him that Tony could get to. He could feel Steve pouting even beneath his kisses.

'I don't know what I was thinking,' Steve said. 'It was a stupid idea.'

'Uh, I _strongly_ disagree,' Tony replied, finally getting a grip on himself. He hadn't been laughing at Steve, it had just been a laugh of relief and joy. Now, however, he had more pressing feelings to deal with. Now they were no longer charged with emotions and negative connotations, he was able to analyse the underwear more critically. He stretched them out again, looking at Steve through the lace work, who groaned at the sight of them.

'You're right,' Tony said, sighing. 'These are _way_ too small for you, soldier.'

Steve buried his face in his hands. 'Can we please just never speak of this again?' he asked, his voice muffled.

'I don't know,' Tony said, getting to his feet. 'I'd hate to see them go to waste.'

Steve looked up just in time to see his husband's jeans hit the floor.


	4. Snowed In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is over 3000 words... I do not know what a drabble is XD
> 
> Also it is not proof read, mostly because I didn't plan to post this today. Unfortunately as I was finishing off what was meant to be today's offering my laptop cut out and I lost half of what I wrote. >.< So in the name of getting something up, this! Please forgive any typos, and the fact I don't have any of the usual snowed in tropes. As always, enjoy!
> 
> (trigger warning for a brief passing mention of suicide and a focus on homophobic/biphobic attitudes in the past. This chapter only.)

Snowed In

'This is ridiculous,' Tony said, because it was. No-one disagreed. He wasn't even sure what was _more_ ridiculous; the situation itself or the way it had come about. Because the road to this moment had started months before, when Shield had turned out to be riddled with Hydra double agents, when the helicarrier had crashed, and when Tony had visited Steve in the hospital only to be told, slowly and haltingly and so, so sorrowfully, that his parents hadn't died in an accident at all. That they had been murdered by Hydra. By the man now standing in the hall of his parent's mountain retreat, glaring at the snow piled up in the door frame as if the look alone could melt it.

Of course Tony had been upset, to put it mildly. Nor had he been particularly thrilled by Steve begging him to _help_ , to help find his parent's killer, to help the man Steve was convinced was still in there, that was – as Tony had felt at time – apparently a more important friend than the rest of them. Over the weeks it took to locate Bucky, however, the anger had ebbed and he had started to accept what Steve said. Even so, until they actually found him he hadn't completely decided what he was going to do to Bucky. What they'd found was a shell of a person, confused, lost, and just _tired_. Like an animal, fighting desperately to cling to life purely on instinct, without really knowing why. Tony had been alarmed by the cornered look in his eyes, and somehow knew that if they didn't help Bucky would seek to end his own life as soon as he regained the cognitive functions to think of it. A few brain scans and psychiatric tests back at the lab had confirmed that they had done a real number on the poor man's brain, and even though he had shared a body with the Winter Soldier, it had been Hydra in the driving seat.

It was still hard, sometimes, to stop the anger from flaring up. But by thinking of Bucky and the Winter Soldier separately, by transferring the blame and rage he felt onto Hydra, by reminding himself that Bucky was also a victim, Tony had managed. He had poured as much as he could into Bucky's recovery, paying for doctors and counselling, designing a better prosthetic arm, getting Bucky whatever was needed to restore him to some part of what he had been before.

There was one simple reason why, and the reason was Steve. Steve had thought he'd lost everyone when he woke up in the future, it was no wonder that he clung so tightly to his best friend after this miraculous reappearance. Bucky recovering would make Steve happy, and Tony wanted Steve to be happy; even if it stung a bit to know he would never be the friend to him that Bucky was. Even if the fact that they would never be more than friends stung even more. Still, if Steve was happy, Tony could deal with that too. He could deal with anything as long as Steve was happy.

So, fast forward from that day at the hospital, and here he and Steve and Bucky all were, in a cabin in the mountains that Tony had inherited. Bucky was doing much better, but the bustle of Christmas in the city had proved to be somewhat overwhelming, and so they had dropped him off here, literally in the middle of nowhere, to spend the holiday period alone. The idea obviously made Steve uncomfortable – it made Tony uncomfortable too, and the condition of Bucky being allowed to use the house was that the therapist signed off on it first – but Bucky had seemed to be looking forward to a peaceful Christmas on his own in the beautiful scenery of the mountains.

Unfortunately, soon after they arrived, a blizzard had blown in. Hours lately it had finally ceased, but when Steve had gone to the front door and hauled it open it was followed by a spill of snow slumping onto his feet.

'Ah,' Steve had said, at the pile of snow that had built up two thirds of the way up the door frame. That was all he had said. They were stuck.

'Absolutely ridiculous,' Tony repeated. 'We're three super humans, we can't be stranded by a little snow.'

'Well, two super humans and you,' Bucky corrected, smirking, because he had turned out to be a bit of a dick when he recovered.

'If I had the armour,' Tony grumbled, but got no further, because stupidly he didn't have the armour and they all knew it.

'It's alright,' Steve said, looking up from his phone. 'It looks like the snow's been blown up against the house because of the shape of the mountains, it's not as bad elsewhere. They're not forecasting any more snow for today and the temperature is meant to rise overnight; with luck we'll be out of here tomorrow.'

Bucky nodded, slamming the door shut before any more snow could slide in. 'Wine,' he said, heading for the kitchen.

Two hours later, Tony was sitting on the ancient settee in the lounge of the cabin, feeling distinctly giggly. It wasn't fair – he was the only one drunk, as the other two had been too effected by the experimentation that had been done on them. And he shouldn't even have _been_ drunk, they were only drinking the mulled wine, warm and sweet, that he had made sure Bucky would be well stocked with. Okay, they had drunk quite a lot of it, but still. Mulled wine.

Steve was smiling at him, which made Tony giggle more, which made Steve laugh.

'I didn't have you down as a giggly drunk,' he said. 'I thought you'd be a morose one. Bucky always got really fatalistic whenever he'd had a few too many. We'd be debating the point of existence while I hauled him home.'

'Whereas Steve,' Bucky shot back, 'Could have a drink and a half and then he'd throw up everywhere and pass out by the bins.'

'It's true,' Steve agreed solemnly, as Tony giggled even more, starting to snort with laughter.

'You guys are so fun,' he said, happily. 'I like hearing about you, Steve. Before you were all this.' He waved at Steve, trying to somehow encompass his perfection in a single gesture. ' _Wow_.'

'Okay, maybe that's enough wine,' Steve said, going to take the glasses. He was probably right, but the phrase reminded Tony of an anecdote, which made him laugh again, and then he had to explain about the time at MIT when he had been trying to impress a girl by 'dyeing' the carpet of his room with red wine. The worst part was he had been almost entirely sober as he poured out bottle after bottle, complaining about how the wine didn't seem to obey the laws of fluid mechanics because it didn't spread properly, and just pooled strangely in the corners.

'I didn't even realise she had gone until Rhodey was behind me,' Tony said, 'And he was like-'

'Okay, maybe that's enough wine,' they all chorused together, laughing. Steve was particularly tickled by the story, and every time he looked at him Tony could almost see the mental image forming in his mind before he would burst out laughing again. Steve's laugh, Tony thought, might be the best sound in the world.

On the whole, being snowed in was turning out not to be so bad. Although he couldn't get drunk, the mulled wine seemed to have soothed Bucky, shaved off some of the sharp edges from months of busy city life and the long car journey up. He had loosened up and seemed content to sit in the squashy old arm chair, joking and laughing with them, occasionally looking away from his guests and up at the boughs of the Christmas tree Tony had had put in for him. There was nothing on it yet, as Tony had thought Bucky might enjoy doing it himself, but it filled the room with the distinctive smell of pine, of Christmas. The under floor heating was on full blast and Steve had proven himself a true boy scout when he had started a fire in the old grate at one end. They were warm and cosy, the mulled wine was tasty, and Steve was sitting next to Tony on the small couch, only a few inches of room between them. No, it wasn't a bad situation to be in, all things considered; especially if it seemed like they'd be able to get away in the morning.

That said, if Steve and he had been here all alone – but Tony couldn't let his thoughts go any further down that route. Even if he was irrationally convinced that _All I Want for Christmas is You_ must have been written about his friend. His friend, his friend, his friend. Tony needed to get over this unrequited crush. Steve deserved someone who could be a friend with no underlying ulterior motives or secret hopes, a friend who didn't fantasise about things he would find extremely uncomfortable.

But what was Tony meant to do? Steve was sitting there, and the room smelt of Christmas, they were drinking mulled wine and eating mince pies, and Steve was wearing a navy knit jumper and knitted woollen socks, and it was all so unbearably _domestic_ and _festive_ that Tony didn't know how he was supposed to stop his thoughts from straying. He struggled to get his mind back on the story he'd been telling.

'Yeah, and the carpet was all sticky and stank when it was dry, so we had to get a new one,' he finished. 'It wasn't my best idea.'

Bucky snorted. 'You think?'

'Alright then, smart arse,' Tony challenged. 'Your turn. Tell us the worst idea you ever had.'

Bucky raised his eyebrows. 'You really want to go down that route with me, Stark?'

Tony waved his hand impatiently. 'Not the Winter Soldier. _You_. I bet you've done some stupid shit in your time.'

'Mine was probably Christmas 1935, the Blue Diamond, Melanie Jackson,' Steve said thoughtfully, making Bucky roll his eyes and nod in agreement. At Tony's questioning look, Steve smiled and explained, 'I was seventeen, and I asked the prettiest girl in school to dance with me at the Blue Diamond's Christmas party. Her boyfriend wasn't very happy.'

'Boyfriend _s_ ,' Bucky amended, emphasising the S. 'When about five fellas turned out to beat Steve up, they realised she'd been messing them all around. It turned into an all out brawl and eventually me and Steve managed to escape in the confusion.'

'I lost a tooth,' Steve said, the nostalgia in his voice sounding almost wistful. 'It grew back when I had the serum.'

'What, seriously?' Bucky asked, and Steve pulled out his cheek to show the back of his top row of teeth, which was indeed gap free.

Tony sipped his wine. Ha. He had known a smile that perfect couldn't be natural. He still loved it though.

'Now it's really your turn, Barnes,' he challenged. 'Come on, we told you ours. Worst decision you ever made, go.'

'Christmas,' Bucky said. 'The Blue Diamond.'

Tony groaned. 'Cheat! You can't say the same thing.'

'I'm not,' Bucky said, his eyes fixed firmly on Steve. 'Christmas 1938. The Blue Diamond.'

Tony would have to have been a lot drunker not to notice the tension that rippled between them and into Steve's body, the super soldier blinking hard and sitting up straighter.

'I made a bad decision,' Bucky said. 'Really bad. I hurt someone, and I gave them the worst possible advice. I was young and it was a different time, and they could have gotten into a ton of trouble, but...' he shrugged, downing the last of his own wine. 'I regretted it then and I have ever since. I wish I'd been braver. I wish I'd told them to do what made them happy. That was the biggest mistake I ever made.'

Tony opened his mouth to ask for details, to remind Bucky that this wasn't the cryptic crossword, but before he could Steve suddenly jerked to his feet, grabbing the now-empty glasses and muttering something about washing up before dashing to the kitchen. Tony stared after him, unsure of what was happening.

'Stark,' Bucky said, 'This is the part where you go after him. Trust me.'

'Um, okay?' Tony got up and headed for the door. Bucky's voice caught him as he passed through it.

'Stark? Thanks. For everything.'

Tony turned to smile at him. 'No problem. Any friend of Steve's...'

Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the fire. Tony made his way to the kitchen, where he found Steve standing by the sink staring into space. He hadn't yet turned on the tap.

'Steve? You okay?'

Steve started and blinked at Tony. His eyes were glassy, almost like he was tipsy too, or like he was about to cry.

'I'm fine,' he said, sighing, and obviously seeing that wasn't going to fly added, 'Just... reassessing my life choices.'

Tony leant back on the counter. The kitchen still smelled of mulled wine, sweet and spicy, and somehow created an atmosphere which made it hard to have a serious conversation; but Tony wouldn't let it stop him if Steve needed to talk, he couldn't. 'I'm guessing you're the one Barnes gave bad advice to.'

Steve looked at him for a long minute, then turned on the tap, turning his attention to washing up the wine glasses. Tony waited, and sure enough, after a moment, Steve answered with a story.

'We used to go the Blue Diamond Christmas party every year. Everyone did. And once we were teenagers, Bucky used to chat up the girls and sometimes I'd have a go, but... 1938 was the year Bucky found me in a closet with someone.'

Tony's eyebrows shot up. He resisted the urge to wolf whistle. He couldn't imagine Steve being caught in a cupboard with anyone.

'The person was... I was with a boy,' Steve said. He wasn't looking at Tony and Tony was glad, because the words were exploding over and over in his head, immediately sobering him up, his thoughts racing, because if Steve had been with a guy in 1938, maybe that meant he wasn't straight, maybe, maybe, maybe. Tony's breath hitched, and Steve obviously mistook it for a gasp of surprise, because he continued miserably, 'Bucky was furious. At first he thought... the guy was much bigger than me. What you'd call a butch type these days. And I was so small and scrawny that at first he thought... but I told him he was wrong. I tried to tell him, I wanted to tell him, that...' Steve took a deep breath, and finally gave voice to his thoughts, to his real feelings. 'That I liked men. I liked women, girls, too; but I was equally attracted to men. Except Bucky didn't want to hear it. He cut me off before I could say it, he was worried that someone would overhear and get the police, he was angry at me for being reckless. He didn't let me finish, he told me to never say it out loud, to forget about it.' The words were pouring out of Steve now, and he wiped tiredly at his forehead, smearing wet over it from the washing up without seeming to notice. 'After that, he started pushing me onto girls more. Setting up blind dates and double dates and all. I think he was hoping I'd forget about that part of me, that I'd fall for a woman and get married and have kids and stay out of jail. I had no idea he regretted it.'

'Well, the forties sucked,' Tony said. 'Maybe he really was just trying to protect you. But it was still a crappy thing to do.' He wondered if it would be appropriate to put his arms round Steve, to give him what seemed like it would be a much needed hug. But then, given what he needed to say next, it probably wouldn't be. '...Steve, is that what you've lived your life by ever since? Because you know being bi is fine now. You aren't going to get arrested for fooling around in a closet.'

Steve shrugged. 'I thought about saying something a few times, but there didn't seem to be much point. And every time I thought about saying something I'd remember Bucky's face and...'

He trailed off. Tony had to put his hands behind him to stop him going for the hug.

'It sounds like you two have a lot to talk about,' he said instead.

Steve nodded, still wide-eyed. 'Hearing him say that... that he was wrong...' He shook his head in disbelief, but a smile began to tug at his lips. 'It's thrown me for a loop. But... it's also a big relief. To know the person your closest to won't judge you.'

Tony couldn't resist the urge to touch him any longer, but he kept it casual, with a hearty pat on the back. 'First day of the rest of your life,' he said, as lightly as he could. 'Welcome to the outside of the closet.'

Steve laughed at that, and, Tony was sure, manoeuvred deliberately so he could get away from Tony's hand on his back and take it instead.

Interesting.

'Thanks for not freaking out,' he said, giving Tony's hand a squeeze. 'I hope it won't bother you when you're sober.'

'The only thing that will bother me is if you keep living half a life,' Tony answered. 'It's Christmas, Cap. Nearly New Years. It's the season for magic, miracles and fresh starts.'

'I like that,' Steve muttered, and for a moment they stood there, neither of them moving away, neither of them quite brave enough to move forward.

'Also the season for mistletoe,' Bucky said from the doorway, pointing above their heads to where there was indeed a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the sink, exactly where Steve was standing. It had not been part of the decorations Tony had had prepared.

Steve looked almost ready to cry again. 'Bucky...'

'Don't,' Bucky said, 'Just doing what I should have done in 1938, and trying to make you happy, whoever you love.' He fixed Tony with a sceptical look, which made Tony's heart flutter, because if he was saying what Tony thought he was saying, then it would mean... Bucky smiled and turned to leave the room again. 'Merry Christmas, Stark. Merry Christmas, Steve.'

A second later, they were alone. Still under the mistletoe. Steve was still holding his hand. For a moment longer, they still said nothing.

'Well,' Steve said, eventually. 'It's meant to be bad luck to break the tradition.'

'Superstitious nonsense,' Tony said, without thinking, because if Steve listened to him, it was going to have the exact opposite effect to the one he wanted. He stepped forward slightly, gripping Steve's hand tighter, and hastily added, 'But I'd hate to break a tradition. Uh, assuming you don't want to.'

'I want to,' Steve said, huskily, sounding somewhat disappointed. He went to move away. Tony held him tighter.

'Assuming you don't want to _break_ the tradition,' he clarified, quickly. 'I want to keep the tradition. I really, really want to. I've wanted to for months. Please. Thanks.'

Steve blinked at him, then laughed until Tony joined in, flushing. 'I changed my mind,' he said. 'This, this is the worst decision I've ever made. Or at least the most awkward.'

'Tony,' Steve said, softly, stopping his words. And that was all he needed to say. A moment later, he was in Steve's arms and they were fulfilling the tradition very thoroughly indeed.

Outside, the snow was still piled up against the door, but Tony no longer cared. All he needed was this moment, and if the snow lasted forever he wouldn't even care.


	5. Santa Buddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this was the one I had to rewrite after losing a section to technical issues >.< Hopefully you still enjoy it. I didn't know how to end the scene, so I decided, 'When in doubt, let them make out'. Let's call it a recovery after seeing such sad boys in the trailer yesterday...

Santa Buddy

Despite what they might say when they were asked, most of the Avengers agreed that the benefits of living with Tony Stark outweighed the inconveniences. True, he could be untidy, leaving screws and bits of circuit board littered all over the place; and on the other hand screech like a Stepford Wife at coffee grounds left in the disposal or wet towels put back on the rail instead of in the wash. He kept odd hours and blasted music loudly enough to shake the whole place, and had been known more than once to use every pot and pan in the kitchen and most of the contents of the fridge just trying to make an omelette. On the other hand, though, they were living rent-free, utilities included; they had the best wifi in the city, amazing views, the best quality furniture, a pool, a roof garden, and two hot tubs. And then, at this time of year, the whole place transformed into a kind of Christmas grotto, cosy and warm, and festivity wherever you looked. To Tony, if you were going to do something, you ought to do it properly.

That day, he was working in the lab, finally making progress on some new hearing aids for Clint, trying to work out a better way to combine it with their communicators, when Jarvis interrupted him; pulling him out of the zone to tell him that the others – two floors above, with sound proofing in between – had requested he turned the music down.

'Is it that loud?' He asked, and his voice was drowned out. Ah. That was probably why Jarvis had asked if the hearing aids were for him. 'Okay, take it down twenty percent.' The music dropped.

Tony went back to work.

'Sir, it seems the music is still audible in the common room,' Jarvis said, snapping Tony's focus again. He sighed. They didn't understand that when your mind steamed ahead as quick as his did, he needed the music to drown half his thoughts out so he could concentrate on a single thing at once. And he wanted to get this done today.

'Ask them if they'll leave me alone if we switch to the Christmas playlist.'

They obviously agreed, because Jarvis didn't bother him again but a moment later Frank Sinatra was crooning out _White Christmas_. Tony sank back into his work, and didn't resurface until Jarvis said, 'Captain Rogers is requesting access.'

'Let him in,' Tony said, trying to finish the particular bit he was working on, knowing Steve would wait for him to be done before saying whatever he wanted to say. It turned out, however, that this wasn't a business call – Steve entered the room silently, smiling at Tony as the mechanic glanced up at him. He was bearing a plate of pasta and a mug of coffee, which probably meant he had missed dinner again. Tony grunted his thanks and directed his attention back to what he was doing before he lost his thread of thought. Steve wouldn't interrupt him just for small talk at times like this; he was good like that. Or maybe he just didn't want to yell over the still-loud music.

Steve set down the plate of food, but before he could get the coffee down safely the track changed. It seemed to startle him, because he jolted violently at the sound, and the next thing Tony knew Clint's new hearing aids were swimming and sparking in a pool of his best Malabar Coast brew. Tony stared at them. He'd been so close to building in an automatic fail safe to switch them off in the event of a large explosion, protecting Clint's hearing from getting any worse, while still allowing communication in what could easily be an emergency situation. But with the circuitry exposed, some of the solder not even set, there would be no chance of recovering it from it's caffeinated grave.

Steve didn't even apologise, he was too busy looking around with a wide-eyed, flustered stare. 'What song is this?' He demanded.

'What?' Tony asked, hunting around for something to mop up with, and eventually settling on a sweaty shirt that had been bundled up in the corner waiting to go in the wash for weeks. Given his distraction, it was Jarvis that answered.

'It's Michael Buble's version of _Santa Baby,_ Captain,' he supplied. 'Often erroneously referred to as 'Santa Buddy' due to the changes made to the chorus.'

'No ho-ho-homo,' Tony commented wryly, wrinkling his nose as he picked the remains of his work out of the coffee and tossed them in the trash. 'Well, that's a day's work down the drain.'

'I'm sorry,' Steve said, seeming to notice the mess he'd made for the first time. 'Sorry, I just... sorry.'

He turned for the door and started hurrying away. He'd gone pale, far paler than Tony had ever seen him; and he had seen Steve facing down impossible odds.

'Hey,' he said, trying to sound casual-yet-concerned, 'Everything okay?'

'Yeah, fine, I'll, uh, leave you to it.' And with that, Steve left without even offering to help with the clean up. Something was definitely going on.

'Jarvis,' Tony said. 'Search for Captain America Santa Baby.'

Some time and several search terms later, however, Tony had to concede it was pointless. Even the original Eartha Kitt version wasn't recorded until 1953, which was well after when Steve was put on ice. Whatever he hated about the song, it had to have happened since he woke up in the future; but Tony had no idea what it could be. He wouldn't have thought Steve had even heard that version of the song before – it wasn't one of Tony's favourites – if it wasn't for the strange reaction. Something funny was going on.

Maybe it wasn't the song itself. Maybe it was the lyrics, and the crass commercialism they betrayed. Maybe Steve was just shocked by someone being so demanding. Then again, he seemed to be dealing with it. Just the other day, when Tony had asked him what he wanted for Christmas, he had sighed theatrically and asked for _a sense of purpose._ He'd laughed when he'd seen Tony for once lost for words and added, _failing that, how about a nice big tower like yours? You can slap my name on it in sixty foot letters_.

Little did he know, Tony had called his bluff and there was a skyscraper waiting to have _Rogers_ put on the side on Christmas Eve. After the joke was done, he was planning to auction it off and donate the money to a charity of Steve's choice, but Cap didn't need to know that, at least, not right away. The bottom line was, a little tongue-in-cheek ditty about the consumerist nature of the holiday shouldn't have bothered him so much.

Tony drummed his fingers on the table, now sticky with coffee residue, and was suddenly struck with inspiration. 'Jarvis,' he said, 'Search the Starkhive.'

'Certainly, sir,' Jarvis said, sounding almost pleased. Possibly because this was the first request Tony had made to look into his family's archive since testing that the software worked almost a year before. The idea had been to offer Stark Industries' competitive paid internships to fields outside of STEM, and the only thing he could think of was getting a bunch of History and Library Management Studies students in to digitise his family's extensive private archives; everything from his ancestors' diaries to Howard's lab books and research notes to photographs, film reels and newspaper cuttings. He'd taken on three interns at the start of the year, run thorough background checks, buried them in non-disclosure agreements, and then let them loose on the old mansion where it was all stored. Even now they had only cleared two of the five floors, but they had just finished with his dad's Captain America collection, or as Tony called it, the freaky stalker collection. It had weirded him out a bit when he was growing up, but now he was glad of it. He intended to present Steve with any personal effects in the New Year, along with a full list of items to see if there was anything else he wanted. He'd thought about doing it as a gift on Christmas day, but somehow it had felt unfair to return Steve's stuff and pass it off as a present. The benefit was that now, if Steve had somehow had anything to do with the song, his dad would almost certainly have details of it.

'What search terms should I use?' Jarvis enquired.

'Well, Santa Baby, obviously. And Santa Buddy. And Eartha Kitt, maybe they met. Throw in any other search terms you can think of, and limit it to items related to Captain America only.' This last explicit instruction was the result of the thought that if Steve had met Eartha Kitt, possibly Howard had too, and if he had, he had probably gone to bed with her. Depending on how old she was. Tony didn't have the energy to find out, but either way he didn't want to risk it.

'One result, sir,' Jarvis said, pulling it up on a holographic display near Tony's elbow. Tony looked at it, eyes widening. He'd just struck gold.

At six thirty am the next day, he was in the kitchen. He hadn't slept, but it was worth it. He wanted to catch Steve as soon as possible, because this was good. Really, really good.

On his days off, it would usually be eight or nine am before Steve showed up in the common areas; but on days like this, when he was needed at Shield, he liked to have an excessive amount of time to get ready. Sure enough, at 6.35, just as Tony was nodding off in a chair, he appeared, hair wet from the shower, sticking up in spikes where he had combed it. He looked at Tony.

'Go to sleep,' he said, shaking his head. It wasn't exactly the first time their paths had crossed like this.

'In a bit, I'm starving.' Tony said, going over to the toaster. It was almost a metre long and could do up to twelve slices at once. 'Want some toast?'

'Okay, thanks,' Steve said. 'I'll get juice.' He shook a glass questioningly at Tony, and at his nod took a second one from the cupboard and made his way over to the fridge. This was Tony's chance.

'How about some music?' he said, leaning over and casually flipping the stereo on. They were immediately assaulted with a blare of brass instruments, half way through a note. It was unfortunate that the start of the song was cut off, and the sound quality was awful and crackled, but given the way Steve froze with his hand on the fridge door he had recognised it immediately.

After a few more notes from the instruments, Steve's voice came on the recording, smooth and sweet.

' _Think of all the fun I've missed, think of all the ladies that I haven't kissed-'_

That was as far as recording-Steve got, because present day Steve had come and turned the sound system off, forcibly. So forcibly, in fact, that there was now a Steve-fist shaped hole in the top of it.

'Aww,' Tony pouted. _Worth it_.

Steve rounded on him, eyes full of horror. 'Where did you get that?'

Tony pretended not to hear, examining the smashed stereo. 'You cut it off before the best bit,' he complained. 'I'm not sure if I prefer the bit where you ask for _a ring for my girl back at home_ before asking Santa to keep an eye on her and make sure she isn't cheating; or the bit when you ask for a stocking full of bullets for the boys. Honestly I'm not sure which is creepier. Probably the girl thing. But then, how many bullets would fit in a stocking anyway? Did you ever-'

He stopped abruptly as Steve clamped a hand over his mouth. Oh. He was maybe actually pissed.

'How did you get it? Steve demanded. 'It wasn't supposed to be recorded.'

'Mmmuph,' Tony said, mostly as an excuse to move his lips and tongue over Steve's palm. Well, when an opportunity presented itself... Steve took his hand away and wiped it on his trousers. Charming.

'I found a programme for the gala in my dad's stuff and the song was listed,' he explained. 'Then I've had the poor little interns up all night checking all his records and recordings for any fragments. They finally found it half taped over on the b-side of a Feynman lecture.'

'Howard,' Steve groaned. 'Of course. I forgot he was there.'

Tony couldn't comment on that. To him, it was obvious that his dad would have been at anything that promised to be a good party. Plus, given the boasts in the programme about how every dime, nickel and penny would go to the war effort, the publicity probably hadn't hurt. The gala had taken place at the height of Captain America's popularity, just before the USO tour had headed over to Europe. It was no wonder, really, they had asked him to perform a song of his own.

Still, Tony had to admit, he had listened to the recording a few too many times to justify it merely as a desire to tease Steve. He'd never heard Steve sing before, and he'd been a little surprised by the talent he had. Even through the terrible audio quality, there was a crispness to his voice, something in the timbre, that had made Tony go a little weak at the knees; even with such hammy lyrics.

'Yeah. So what did he make of you flirting with Santa to get him to spy on your girlfriend?'

Steve flushed. 'It wasn't like that. It didn't come across that way back then.'

'Steve, it's literally you asking Santa for a list of stuff. Santa is your sugar daddy.'

'I didn't write it,' Steve said. 'And I didn't want to perform the stupid thing, but it wasn't like anyone actually asked me. In the end I thought we might be able to raise some money, but don't think for one second I enjoyed a single moment of rehearsing or performing that stupid song! What I want to know is _how_ it ever came back!'

'That's a good point, actually. No-one knows you sang it first. Probably one of the composers sold it on to Eartha Kitt. Or she was there at the gala and saw you perform.'

Steve snorted. 'At an event for rich white people in 1943?'

'Okay, right, the forties sucked. Another good point.'

'Anyway, hers was _Santa Baby,_ it was at least a bit different. That one last night was _Santa Buddy_. Like mine.'

'Steve,' Tony said, knowing he shouldn't be smiling but unable to help it. He'd never seen Steve blushing like he was now. 'Don't worry, okay? It's a coincidence, it's based on _Santa Baby_ and the words were changed just in case anyone – horror of horror – thought he was gay. No-one knows about your version. No-one's going to be able to find the recording.'

'You did,' Steve said, with a definite pout.

'Yeah, but I'm me.' Tony shrugged. Steve laughed.

'Right. And you'll destroy it?' He looked hopeful.

'Never,' Tony said. 'Sorry, Cap, but no. I'm going to treasure it the rest of my life.'

'Why?' Steve said. 'Come on, Stark, I'm begging you.'

'Uh, Stark? We're back to Stark now? If you want a favour you need to be a little nicer.'

'Nicer, huh?' Steve repeated, and he was starting to smile again. 'Okay, I can do nice.'

And Tony suddenly realised just how close they had been standing this whole time. He realised it because in one easy movement Steve turned, putting down an arm either side of Tony, trapping him against the counter. Tony looked up at him, heart thudding. He'd had dreams that had started this way. Steve leaned in toward him, pressing a hand to Tony's cheek. Tony shut his eyes, opening his lips, but the kiss he expected didn't come. Instead, he felt Steve whisper into his ear, so close that he could feel his breath, feel the ghost of lips on his ear and cheek, making his stomach flip and his body shiver.

'Please,' Steve breathed, ' _Please_ , Tony. I need you to do this, Tony.'

The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Tony had been turned on ever since he had heard Steve singing, and now Steve was making his voice all husky and breathy and _bedroomy_ , and at this point Tony would have agreed to anything as long as Steve would keep talking to him like that. Assuming he was even still capable of doing anything. He suppressed a groan, holding himself up on the edge of the work surface, because he felt like everything from his chest down had turned to jelly. He had to swallow, hard, before he could speak.

'Whatever you want, Cap,' he said, his own voice cracking and strangely high pitched. He risked letting go of the counter to pluck at the sleeve of Steve's sweater, testing the ground, ready to move higher and lower, to explore the rest of Steve's body if he was allowed.

'Good boy,' Steve said in a low voice, and to his embarrassment Tony let out a little moan. It was the kind of moan that was one step short of ripping his clothes off, lying back on the table and begging _take me now_. Honestly, that wasn't sounding like a bad idea either at the moment.

'Thanks,' Steve said, in his ordinary voice, and moved away to the fridge to finish getting the juice like nothing had happened.

Tony blinked, trying to get his breath back and generally remember where he was. That was not how he had expected that scene to end. Steve handed him a glass of juice, grinning in satisfaction. Tony kicked him lightly in the shin.

'I hate you,' he informed Steve.

'The evidence would suggest otherwise,' Steve replied, calmly. 'Widow reckoned you had a voice kink; guess now we know for sure.' He sipped unconcernedly at his juice.

Tony did not appreciate this. _Steve_ was meant to be the one adorably flustered, not him. He wasn't sure how the tables had turned, but he did not like it.

'Tell her, Rogers, and I'll put the recording on Youtube,' he threatened, trying to regain some ground.

'But you just promised to destroy it,' Steve said patiently, finishing the last of his drink and rinsing off the glass. 'You wouldn't break a promise, would you?'

'Maybe not,' Tony said. 'If you gave me a good enough reason. I hear you can be nice,'

He couldn't have been misreading the signals. It might be teasing, but more than that it was flirting, and Steve wouldn't flirt without intent, not even to wind Tony up. At this point, Tony couldn't care less about his dignity or getting the upper hand, he just wanted Steve back where he could reach him, talking to him in that voice again. So he went, and hooked his hands around Steve's waist, and Steve didn't push him away, in fact Steve's hands were curling round his back-

And then Steve's version of _Santa Buddy_ started blasting at top volume through every speaker in the tower, a festive 7AM alarm Tony had decided to set for the Avengers. He felt Steve freeze.

Oops.


End file.
